The Present
by Lesley W
Summary: Sam isn't sure which he finds more perplexing: That he's Leaped into a man whose Autistic Niece seems to be mentally shutting down, or the impression that something is troubling his best friend, Al. This is the full version of a story I submitted to the Quantum Leap Podcast's Fan Fiction Contest (Originally titled "The Gift").


**The Present: A Quantum Leap Fan Fiction Story by Lesley Wentzell**

 **Prologue**

Saturday: May 16, 1987 10:18pm

Riverside, Rhode Island

"You know the best part about you sleeping over? He won't come in. And _because_ he won't come in, I can tell you everything that happens when you're not here, 'cuz I know you're not gonna tell a soul. Not a single soul. You n' me, we're like sisters. Just promise me you won't say anything. Promise…

" _Promise!"_

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Friday: October 1, 1999 1:10am

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

He was soaked again.

Bolting from an all too short slumber by the same damned dream. He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart was pounding, his breathing erratic. Though some of the elements altered, with utter cruelty, it was more or less the same dream that had been plaguing his subconscious since the Catskills Leap… since Crown Point. No. He wasn't going to think about it. Slowly, deliberately and with his eyes still closed, he took several calming breaths. When his eyes finally opened, he cast a longing, yet thankful, glance at the vacant pillow beside him. At least he was alone this time; not that it mattered. Eight years in hell had taught him to wake silently… even from a nightmare.

Especially from a nightmare.

For a few moments, he sat in the still, quiet blackness of his quarters. Untold minutes passed before he was poised enough to chance a wiping motion, with a still-shaking hand, across his own forehead. He turned on the nearest light, not bothering to audibly request illumination, and rose from his bed. He was almost tiptoeing to the bathroom, feeling rather like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

 _Jeez, Louise! I'm thinking like—aw, hell, kid…_

Still attempting to steady his breathing, he splashed water from the faucet he didn't even remember turning on across his face. What was he going to say if his friend asked what was wrong? Claiming to have had another spat with his maybe-more-than-a-fling redheaded flame was getting as old as he felt. Even with a memory full of holes, the kid was still a genius. His dearest friend was bound to catch on sooner or later. Something told him, however, that the _fight with Tina_ excuse wasn't one he was finished dragging out of mothballs. Sadly, more often than not, it wasn't a lie. Releasing a lengthy, pent-up sigh, he tentatively raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror.

 _This is really stupid!_ He silently scolded his reflection. _You've been through worse. What the hell is wrong with you?_

The answer came back at him, just as commanding as when she had initially given the order. On that melancholy, starry night.

 _You'll tell him nothing, Al._

 **Chapter 1**

Wednesday: May 20, 1987 4:36pm

Riverside, Rhode Island

The joyful sound of children laughing was the first thing he heard as the effects of an all-too-familiar tingling sensation dissipated around him. When the final remnants of blue and white light released him, Dr. Samuel Beckett blinked his eyes, willing his consciousness to quickly take in his new surroundings. He was standing in someone's back yard. The distant sound of seagulls and the caress of a salty ocean breeze told Sam that he was somewhere in New England. A trio of loud voices coming from behind a charcoal grill confirmed his suspicion: Two women, one man, most likely friends of the host and possibly related to some of the kids. The voices were brash, gaudy and seemed to forget that the letter "R" was in the alphabet. The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers was intoxicating!

Behind him, a decent sized above-ground swimming pool was vacant, but not covered. _Late Spring_ , he surmised. It was at that precise moment that he realized something was constricting his left hand! Sam turned sharply. He was holding a redheaded wooden doll with movable eyes and mouth. With his fingers, he could feel the levers that controlled their movements.

"Oh, boy!" he whispered. "I'm a ventriloquist!"

"Alright!" a pretty young blonde woman shouted to his right, causing Sam to almost drop the dummy. "It's time for the birthday girl to blow out her candles!"

She gestured to a beautiful, pint-sized version of herself. The little girl was being bounced on the knee of an older man, about fifty-five to sixty years old, Sam guessed. He had curly salt-and-pepper hair and greyish-blue eyes that should have been full of enjoyment, but instead looked haunted. Next to them was a young blue-eyed boy with curly brown hair. He was playing with a red and blue robot that turned into... a truck? The redheaded girl beside him was looking at… nothing. Her emerald eyes suddenly fixed on Sam and momentarily held his bewildered gaze. Sam was stuck by how closely the doll he was holding resembled her. Could the person he replaced be related to her? And why did her stare seem to penetrate him to his very soul?

 _Does she see the person I'm supposed be, or—_

"Everyone," the blonde's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts, "give a nice big round of applause to—"

The eruption of noise cut her off before she could tell Sam his name. _Typical_ , he thought.

There were ten kids surrounding him. Sam guessed they were between six and eight years old and though had been pleased with his—well, not exactly _his_ —performance, it was more likely that their enthusiasm could be attributed to the promise of cake. Sam smiled to himself. At least they weren't young enough to be terrified at the sight of a complete stranger replacing… whoever Sam had Leaped into. Adding to his relief was the fact that he arrived at the end of the mystery person's performance. Brief flashes in Sam's Swiss-cheesed brain told him that the opposite scenario had occurred more times than even _he_ would care to remember.

"Here you go," the same pretty blonde woman said as she handed Sam a cheeseburger. Sam was awestruck by the absence of the local accent in her velvety tone. "Told you I'd save one for you. I had Tracy make yours the way you like 'em." She glanced at him in a way that made Sam wonder if they were either more than friends, or she _wished_ they were.

 _Where are you, Al?_

Sam knew it would probably be some time before the holographic image of his best friend appeared to him. He also knew that the Project Observer would be positively drooling at the sight of this flaxen-haired beauty. Facetiously wondering which of Al's ex-wives she would remind his friend of, Sam smiled and gratefully accepted the offering.

 _Hmmm. No tomatoes, extra onions… Wait a second!_ Before Sam could ponder why that seemed so familiar, a horrifying thought interrupted his silent musings. This was beginning to feel like the gentle calm before a raging storm.

 _I've Leaped into a ventriloquist at the end of his act, in front of children who no longer exist in a natural Alpha state so my arrival didn't scare the daylights out of them, and_ —he cast a glance skyward— _you're feeding me?_ Perhaps this Leap was going to be tougher than it initially appeared!

"Thank you again for doing this," the woman said gratefully, still not using his name.

"My… uh… pleasure," Sam said, faking cheerfulness. It wasn't in his nature to be impolite, but the scientist certainly didn't relish the thought of a repeat performance!

"I'm sure Deb appreciates you letting her drop you and the kids off here after you picked them up from school. Half-days are… you know… fun for them, tougher on her…"

Sam's mind drifted again, focusing on the timeframe of events which occurred before his arrival. So the kids were let out of school early today. That explained why it seemed as though this party had started relatively early in the afternoon. And, no doubt, on the little girl's _actual_ birthday. That could not have been easy for her mother to pull off, especially on a school day. Sam remembered fondly how his own parents always did the same for Tom, himself, and Katie. He sighed, once again feeling wistful.

"… Anyway, it makes her job at the Vet's Center a lot easier what with… well, _you know_. Though why the two of you don't just get a second car already is beyond…"

Add a missed rondevu during which he would have had to play detective to find if he had temporarily usurped this person's life earlier!

 _Okay, this is getting scary. Wait…_ Sam wondered, interrupting his own musings, _did she just say Deb? Great. Who's Deb?_ And what was with all the half-sentences? Sam sensed this woman was a nice person, but would it kill her to finish a thought every once in a while? It was then that Sam reminded himself how he was, not so long ago, counting his blessings.

"… I—I'm sorry!" his host said abruptly, guilt filling her honey-sweet voice. "I didn't mean anything by that."

She must have mistaken his silence for disapproval. _Pay attention, Sammy Boy!_ He silently chastised himself in a tone which flawlessly echoed Al's mannerisms. Aloud, and around a mouthful of burger, he stammered, "It's okay. N-no harm done."

He noticed a fairly large suitcase on the grass next to him, most likely the resting place for his… act. Sam shuddered, trying not to think about his next gig. He set the dummy on top of the case and, still munching on his reward, followed the woman through the sliding glass door, which led him from the back yard into her kitchen. He briefly caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass: A young man, in his early twenties, clean cut, with deep blue eyes and wavy light brown hair.

Sam suddenly felt parched. Years of Quantum Leaping had enhanced the natural talent he possessed for reading people. Growing up on a farm in Indiana, having to depend upon the people around him and vice versa, his instincts told him that this woman has probably known the young ventriloquist since childhood and, therefore, wasn't going to offer him something to drink. The burger was a fluke; perhaps the young man had assumed there wouldn't be any left after his performance if he didn't secure one for himself.

 _The first time you come into my home,_ his mother's voice said kindly in his mind, _you're a guest. After that you're family, so help yourself._ Sam opened her refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. He smiled again with an ever persistent hint of homesickness.

Thankfully, the blonde broke his concentration. "Deb called about an hour ago," she informed him. "She should be here soon to pick you up."

"Deb, huh?" Sam said, trying to sound casual. Repetition was one of his time traveling fishing tools. Unfortunately, in this case it wasn't working. His companion, still a complete stranger, was already busying herself with post-party clean up duties. By now, most of the kids had left and the sky was barely starting to hint that the perfectly, seasonably warm day was drawing to a close. Perhaps now he could learn his _own_ name. He quickly felt the pockets of his jeans. No wallet.

"Damn," he murmured. "Okay. Plan B."

He looked around the kitchen, even poked his head into the living room, searching for a calendar or newspaper. Anything to give him an idea as to what decade he was in. Still no luck. Resigned for the moment at least, Sam was just about to offer the blonde some help when…

"Al!"

 _What the…?_

Sam turned sharply. Another woman's voice was addressing—him! He took his shot. "Oh… hey, Deb."

"Don't _'hey, Deb'_ me, Al!" the beautiful, emerald-eyed redhead hissed. Sam surmised she was mother to the two children, the brown-haired boy and the redheaded girl. "Get your stuff and hurry up! I've got the kids and the car's running in the driveway."

This was too much! In all his Leaps, Sam couldn't recall a time when the person he replaced shared his best friend's name.

"Thanks, girl!" the second quasi-mystery woman yelled to his fair-haired hostess. "I'll call you tomorrow!"

S _till_ no use of names? Sam shook his head in bewildered amusement. He quickly attempted to follow the sharp, frazzled-sounding instructions of his… wife? Girlfriend? Sister? Al was going to have a field day with this one!

 **Chapter 2**

Despite the ever-shifting holes in his memory, the car ride was somewhat informative for Sam. Though the redhead's rush to leave had left him no time to catch a glimpse at her license plate, road signs along the short trip on Route 114 told him that the birthday party was in Riverside. As they continued on 114, Sam realized he was in Rhode Island! Sam remembered Boston, he remembered MIT, but Leaping into the smallest state in the U.S. was yet another novel experience. Stopping at one of many traffic lights on Pawtucket Ave, Sam noticed a huge plaza that contained a fairly large movie theater: _Patriot Cinemas_. His lips moved silently as he read the names of some of the films that were playing, hoping to jog his memory.

 _Hot Pursuit_

 _Ishtar_

 _The Gate_

 _Beverly Hills Cop II…_

Nothing was ringing any bells. But Deb's light blue Pontiac Grand Prix, along with the makes and models of other passing vehicles finally jogged Sam's unpredictable memory: He was in the 1980's.

By the time Sam and Deb had reached their destination, it was dark. Sam noted the address on the house was 21 Cute Street and the small town was called Pawtucket. Sam helped Deb carry her sleeping children into the modest, mauve-colored New England cottage and she put them to bed, retiring herself shortly afterward. Another hour had passed before Sam heard, much to his utter relief, the sound he had been waiting for.

"Is everyone asleep?" Al whispered, cautiously poking his head through the Imaging Chamber Door.

"Yes." Sam's brow furrowed as he looked at his friend. "What's wrong, Al? You look like a long-tailed cat in a room full of mouse traps."

"It's rocking chairs, Sam." His left eyebrow arched slightly as he spoke.

"What?" Concern was beginning to show now in Sam's eyes. There it was again: That near imperceptible maudlin expression that, all too frequently, washed across the Observer's face. An attempt to mask some hidden anguish. It broke Sam's heart every time he saw it.

"Sam, it's _'rocking chairs,'_ not mouse... never mind."

Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Albert Calavicci took a long drag on his cigar as he stepped the rest of the way through to the past. He shrugged as the Door closed behind him. "And nothing's wrong, Sam. I just wanted to wait until you were alone. Figured you could use a break from trying to listen to me and someone else talking at the same time."

Sam knew that, despite Al's occasional ability to shatter glass with his authoritative, tobacco-laced, Naval-Officer's tone when the situation called for it, a lifetime of pain and loss had softened his raspy timbre and probably had a great deal to do with his quirky sense of humor and endless pursuit of every possible joy that life had to offer. Most of the time, Al preferred to let his wardrobe speak volumes _for_ him. His current outfit was no exception. Al wore a bright purple, button down silk shirt with three small triangles cut out of the collar on each side. The shirt itself was mottled with two-inch forest green triangles facing every which way. The shirt's buttons, his pants, and fedora matched the color of the green triangles perfectly. His belt and the ribbon around his fedora were the same color purple as the shirt. Finishing off the ensemble was a copper pin which was centered on one of the triangles, just above Al's left breast pocket. Sam could swear the pin was shaped like a woman's nipple. His shoes were the same color as the pin. Though he'd never be caught dead in any article of clothing in Al's _cutting edge_ wardrobe, even Sam had to admit his friend was looking quite dapper.

Sam sighed. "Al, I appreciate your consideration... but you're also full of ca-ca."

"I'm full of… Sam, what are you talking about?"

"Come on, Al! I know something's bothering you, and, since you're not going to tell me what it is _yet_ , how about letting me know what I'm doing in Rhode Island."

Al smiled sheepishly as he pulled the multicolored handlink out of his left pants pocket. "Hey," he said brightly, "you know where you are! That's a start. It's also a first for you, Sam… Leaping into the smallest state in the country, I mean." He began tapping the link, pacing as Ziggy fed him the information. "It's May 20th, 1987. Your name, get this, is—"

"Al," Sam finished for him.

"What? Oh, right. Sorry," Al murmured. "Force of habit." Al took another slow drag on his stogie before continuing. "Your _full_ name is Albert Charles Francis Wolfberg—that's a mouthful n' a half. Uh, you're a twenty-six-year-old student at Providence College. You're currently between semesters, and you're also a ven... tril... _Ventril_? Ziggy, what the hell is a _'ventril'_?" Al shook the handlink, slapping it with the palm of his right hand. It squealed its habitual melodic protest. "Ven... Oh, ventriloquist! That's neat, huh, Sam?" The look on Sam's face indicated that he didn't quite agree with the Admiral's assessment.

"Al," Sam said sternly, "can you please just get to why I'm here?"

Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, Al continued. "Well... we don't know." Before Sam could interject his usual disdain for that statement, Al held up both hands defensively. "I'm sorry, Sam. Ziggy's going through one of her mood swings."

"Al…" came Sam's warning.

"Hey… don't look at me, pal." Al's defenses were fully raised. " _You're_ the one who thought it'd be cute if she had Barbara Streisand's ego!"

There was not a trace of the jocularity that typically followed one of Al's well-meaning ribs. Sam's concern increased. Before he could say anything, Al quickly cleared his throat. He concentrated on the flashing handlink, avoiding Sam's gaze, as though he could hear Sam's thoughts.

"Ziggy _did_ manage," he continued, "to project an 85.7% probability that you're here for this kid's niece or nephew."

Sam was skeptical. Though it seemed likely that he would be placed in close proximity to the person, or people, who needed him, the Quantum Physicist knew all too well that anything was possible. Remembering the address from the party, he snapped his fingers and pointed to his friend. "Al," he said quickly, "who lived at 36 White Ave in Riverside in 1987?" There was something about the way the pretty blonde had looked at Sam. Some nervousness in her sweet voice that he simply couldn't ignore.

Al punched a few buttons on the handlink and waited. "According to Ziggy, that house belonged to a sixty year old Electric Boat retiree by the name of George Robinson. His daughter and granddaughter… live with him. Julie's, uh… she's twenty-four and Christina turned eight to... to…" Al delivered another slap to the temperamental device. "Oh, to- _day_. Christina turned eight today."

Sam heard the persistent uneasiness in his friend's tone, but decided not to push the issue just yet. "Where's Christina's father?" he asked.

Al consulted the link. "No data," he said. "The nozzle must've skipped out on Julie and her kid." His eyes narrowed in disgust.

Sam sighed and shook his head in agreement with his friend's condemnation. "What can you tell me about _this_ family here?"

"Well," Al tapped the handlink again as he resumed pacing, "let's see… _This_ house belongs to your sister. Her name is Deborah McCormack, she's twenty-eight, she's... poor kid; she's a widow... and her two children are Jean and Jude. Jean is..." Al hesitated; his dark brown eyes glistened sadly. "She's seven years old. She's Autistic, Sam."

 _Aw, Al._ Sam thought but dared not speak his sympathy aloud. _Trudy…_

Sometimes the Quantum Physicist wondered why _God_ , _Fate_ , or _Time_ kept throwing Al's past in his face. Still, there was more going on with Al than just the memory of his sister; Sam was sure of it. Al cleared his throat repeatedly; the strange clairvoyance he seemed to possess when it came to reading Sam's expressions once again made its presence known.

"Jude is six years old. In fact, Sam," Al added in a vain attempt to sound as casual as possible, "you just missed the kids' birthdays by one week... Jude was born on the thirteenth and Jean on the fourteenth. They're exactly three hundred and sixty-four days apart. _'Irish Twins'_ they call that." Al waived his right hand, his cigar resting between his thumb, forefinger and middle finger as he spoke.

"What happened to their father?" Sam was almost afraid to ask.

"Their father was Captain Donald McCormack, a Pilot in the Air National Guard with the 143rd Airlift Wing in North Kingstown. He was..." Al's already deep voice lowered even further. "He and his Flight Crew were killed three years ago in a training accident involving a C-130 Hercules." Al closed his eyes and briefly bowed his head out of respect for a fellow Pilot and his crew. _Fallen Comrades_.

"Oh, God!" Sam whispered. His green eyes widened in sympathy as he looked toward the ceiling. Julie's sudden nervousness about the car remark began to make sense. Naturally, being Albert and Deborah's friend, she would know this family's history and probably figured she overstepped her boundaries. Still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to her nervous apology than that.

Al nodded in agreement and continued, "You have—I mean, Deborah's brother has been living with her ever since."

Sam looked back at his friend. "Al," he said quietly. The empathy in Sam's voice finally forced Al to meet his gaze. "Al, what could possibly happen to this family that hasn't already...?" He paused in mid-sentence. Then asked, "Does... someone else die?"

"No, Sam. No one else in the family dies."

"Well... what? Do they lose the house or something?"

"No, Sam. Captain McCormack's SGLI left Deborah enough money to pay off the remaining mortgage on the house."

"His _what_?" Sam asked.

"His Service-members Group Life Insurance," Al said slowly. "Long story short, it's a VA-sponsored program for the final affairs of military members and their families. It's a damn good one too. Helps a lot of people… even today."

Al sighed with a brief mixture of appreciation and sadness. Then his protective walls were reestablished. "Wolfberg's college tuition is even being paid for, so you're definitely not here to help this family financially. Look, Sam, I'm gonna head back and see if I can get Gushie to speed Ziggy up a bit. Just stick close to Deborah and the kids and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." With that, he punched up the command to open the Imaging Chamber Door.

"Al, wait!" Sam called, keeping his voice quite so as not to disturb the sleeping household. "What if I have to do another... you know... gig?" After everything the hologram just told him, he almost felt insensitive for asking. Nevertheless, there was always the possibility that he may not have a choice, especially if another performance was the only way to encounter everyone in Albert Wolfberg's proximity matrix.

Al temporarily delayed his escape and closed the Door. "Sam," he chided slightly, "you're not in Vegas! This kid is working towards an Engineering degree. Ventriloquism's just a hobby. It's not like you're trying out for _Star Search_."

"Al," Sam said persistently, "I'm not a ventriloquist!"

Al smiled, trying to reassure his friend. "Sure you are," he said gently. "You should see yourself trying to talk to me when other people are around. Don't worry. If I have to, I'll help you come up with something."

"How?" Sam, who had begun pacing as relentlessly as Al, stopped incredulously. "Don't tell me you ran away from the orphanage and became a ventriloquist."

Al rolled his eyes in exasperation. "No, I never shadowed a ventriloquist. Pool shark? Yes. Traveling circus? Yes. Theater troupe—"

"Al…"

"Oooh, Sam! Did I ever tell you about the troupe leader? She—"

"Damn it, Al!" Sam spat, with a vehemence that surprised even him. "If you don't have anything useful for me, why don't you go back and help Gushie?"

Al said nothing. He didn't have to.

Despite Sam's annoyance at Al's incessant trips down nostalgia lane, Sam couldn't help feeling guilty for the sharpness of his tone. Quantum Leaping into the lives of others—changing history on such a small, but significant scale—felt rewarding. Yet there were times he missed having a casual conversation with his best friend. He missed being engaged in discourse that didn't involve life or death situations.

Al missed it, too.

Sam reached out in front of him and dropped his arms to his sides. "Al… I'm sorry."

"Ah, forget about it, pal. It's— " The handlink squealed, much to Al's relief. As he pulled it from his pocket, however, his relief was soon replaced with worry.

"Ziggy has an update," he said softly. "Two days from now, Jean becomes completely catatonic. No one ever hears a peep outta her again."

 **Chapter 3**

Friday: October 1, 1999 11:45pm

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

Admiral Calavicci was back in his quarters, sitting at his desktop. His fingers drummed idly on the side of his now hatless head as he reviewed the latest request for an upgrade on Ziggy's software. Donna and Tina had taken the proposal to D.C. Tina went with Donna to explain the myriad benefits of the upgrade to the Committee. Donna was there… to interpret the Pulse Communication expert's jargon and hopefully translate it into a language that made sense to the Committee (or rather, _dollars_ and sense): Al referred to it as, "Chi-Ching-eese." He smiled devilishly as he recalled telling Dr. Verbena Beeks where she could shove the Political Correctness lecture. How could the Project's resident shrink not have realized he was kidding? Admiral Albert M. Calavicci was many things, but racist wasn't one of them! Some of the most beautiful, intelligent, deceptively well-rounded women he'd ever met were Asian. Despite his less than favorable encounters with some of their male counter—

Much to Al's relief, a quiet knock on the door interrupted the station toward which his current train of thought was heading. Sighing gratefully, he dislodged himself from his work desk, stretched the soreness from his tired, stiff muscles, and answered it.

"Tina!" He gasped in surprise. "Honey, I thought you and Donna were in D.C. until tomorrow." 

"Don't tell me you didn't miss me!" came her pseudo-hurt reply. Naturally, the smile which graced her sweet lips betrayed the attempt. Her eyes sparkled even brighter than her blinking earrings. She twirled a lock of curly red hair with one hand, gently caressing Al's face with the other.

Al pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply, inhaling her lilac perfume. "Come on in," he practically purred. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the edge of his bed. "Sit down, sit down."

Tina kicked off her heels, only too happy to oblige. "My dogs are totally barking," she moaned.

Al's eyebrows rose with approval. "If you're a good girl," he teased, "I might even give you a foot massage. But first, Cutie, you gotta tell me: How'd it go in Washington?" His eyes were gleaming with the same mischief that Tina's wore. "Did you make all those uptight nozzles really… _suffer_?"

"Oh, Al! Honey, we can talk about that later. I really missed you." Her hands began to travel towards his zipper.

"Hey, hey, hey! Tina-Tina, sweetie… Woah… slow down there, cowgirl!" _What am I saying?_

"Why?" Tina cooed.

" _Why?_ Because you and Gushie need to get that upgrade installed to Her Highness up there. _ASAP_!" Al dramatically pointed to the ceiling.

"You know I can hear you, Admiral Calavicci!" Came the Parallel-Hybrid Computer's petulant reply.

"Of course I know it, Ziggy!" Al retorted sharply "You're everywhere!"

"A fact you might do well to remember, Admiral."

Al rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, _'Your Holy Ubiquitous-ness'_." he growled.

Tina laughed so hard she snorted. "Al, you're such a riot!" She began kissing him enthusiastically. "Al… Oh, Al," she puffed between breaths. "I'll bet Dr. B doesn't appreciate your sense of humor!"

"Tina…" Al gasped as he fought to catch his breath. _What's with you tonight? God, what's with me…?_ "We, uh… Tina… Honey, no… we… We outta pick this up later. You and King Halitosis have got a software update to install, don't you? Maybe this'll be the one that… you know…"

"Brings Sam home?" Tina said with a surprising twinge of sarcasm. "Oh, Al! Does he know what you go through for him? What you _do_ for him? Does the Caped Crusader of Quantum Physics even stop for, like, one second to say thank you? You've been keeping this Project running ever since he left us! You deserve a little R &R, Sailor."

"Tina," Al breathed admonishingly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even more incomprehensible was the fact that he wasn't rushing to Sam's defense. "Well," he finally stammered, "well, what about Donna?"

"What _about_ Donna?" Tina's words became more seductive, in her adorably high-pitched way, with every syllable.

"Don't you think she's suffered enough? Doesn't she deserve to have her husband back? Damn it all, hasn't Sam _more than earned_ the right to come home?"

Tina giggled, pulling herself as close to Al's ear as she could get. "Fuck 'em!" she whispered.

Al's eyes widened beyond comprehension. "What did you say?" he whispered back.

"You heard me, Al… Fuck. Him. You've experienced more pain in one lifetime than he's seen in, like, a million! You've been lookin' out for him since he started Leaping through time. _It's your turn, Al!_ Let someone take care of _you_ for a change."

Al would have given Tina the reprimand of a lifetime if only he could restore command to his own vocal cords. "What the hell," he finally murmured in resignation. He smiled and softly touched her face, running his hand slowly down her neck, lingering across her breasts.

All at once, Al quickly ripped off her blouse, necking her gently, but passionately as they sank deeper into the sanctuary of his bed. Before long they were both in their underwear. Al was almost as shocked at his own behavior as he was at the words that had unabashedly flown from Tina's beautiful lips. But she was right! Sam wasn't out there flying solo, trying to singlehandedly make the goddamned world a better place! He had, at his beck and call, a diligent, hard-working supportive cast: He had Tina and Gushie and Verbena! He had Ziggy, dozens of technicians, Code-One Special Forces for security… an elderly mother, two _immensely_ understanding siblings…

And Al… And Donna!

Al closed his eyes in self-deprecating hatred as his final inner tirade reminded him that his best friend wasn't the only one he failed… when he and Sam switched places.

"Oh, Al!" Tina was moaning in pure ecstasy. "Yeah! Oh, yeah… take me! Take me now…"

"Tina…" Al breathed. He opened his eyes. She really was _beautiful_ … and brilliant and quirky and…

"Al…"

"Oh, Tina…" _I'm so sorry…_

"Al, yes! Take me, Al… Take me! Tell me! Tell me, Al!"

"Huh...?" Al blinked at her, laughing nervously. "Tell you _what_? Tina, sweetheart, you're not making any s—"

"Tell me… tell him…"

"What?"

"Tell him… _Nothing_!"

Tina was gone. Donna was in her place and Al's hands were covered in blood.

"You'll tell him nothing, Al."

"No… Oh, God! No… Sam, I'm sorry… _S-A-A-A-A-A-A-M_!"

Al bolted from his bed into a sitting position, screaming silently. He looked at his hands. The blood of course was absent, but they were shaking.

He was soaked again.

 **Chapter 4**

Saturday: October 2, 1999 2:23am

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

"What are you going to do, Admiral?"

Al stopped fidgeting with his copper pin long enough to stare dubiously at Project Quantum Leap's Psychiatrist. He was suddenly disgusted that he had fallen asleep in his bed wearing the same clothes.

"Goddamn it, Beeks!" he rasped. "If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't have gotten you up at o-dark-thirty, now would I?" He ran a hand across his face and sighed. "Sorry." The word was barely audible and full of self-reproach.

Dr. Verbena Beeks smiled, nodding acceptance. She was well aware that, though he valued her as a colleague—even more so as a friend—it took a lot for the seasoned Veteran to even consider seeking her council. By the time he tapped on her door, she was already dressed. She gestured, nonthreateningly, to her couch. The look in his eyes told her what she had already surmised: No way in hell was he going to park his ass, or lie down and be treated like a patient, until she made the first move. She sat first and gestured to the empty cushion beside her. Finally, he conceded. It was the first time he had stopped pacing since he arrived at her quarters.

Al held his head in his hands. "I can't do it anymore," he said, very slowly. "It's bad enough Sam's back there because of me."

"Sam doesn't believe that, Al."

"Sam is Swiss-cheesed. He doesn't remember."

Verbena placed her hand on his shoulder. "In his heart, he does."

Al snorted. "What? You're a Cardiologist now?"

"Al, he doesn't blame you—"

" _I_ do!" Al interrupted sharply. He released a deep breath, shaking his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Bena. Look, that's not the hot issue right now. I can't lie to the kid anymore. It's… it's killing me," he finished in a defeated whisper.

Verbena's gaze seemed to look past Al's eyes, straight into his soul. "Then don't." she said gently.

Al looked up and almost laughed. "That's not exactly what I was expecting you to say."

"Al," Verbena said softly, "Sam knows something's troubling you. He's your friend. He cares about you. Don't you think you've earned the right to unburden yourself to him a little?"

"You're not suggesting I tell the kid he's married, are you?"

"Of course not. But surely there must be something about this Leap that has you distressed. Something, perhaps… reminiscent of another Leap? Something that you could…" her Nubian-dark eyes were full of empathy and suggestion.

Al understood. Still exhausted, yet grateful, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. She rose from the couch with him as he made his way toward her door. She didn't ask for his permission, following him, as they exited her quarters and headed for the Control Room.

"Thanks, Doc." he murmured.

 **Chapter 5**

Thursday: May 21, 1987 3:17pm

Pawtucket, Rhode Island

It was five o'clock in the morning when Sam awoke, yawning and stretching, from a short, but much-needed slumber. Deborah was already impersonating a decapitated chicken as Sam came into the kitchen, offering to help her with breakfast as well as make lunches for Jean and Jude. After several heated protests, Albert's sister conceded and, two hours later, the kids were on the bus, heading for school. Not long after, Deb was on her way to the Vets Center and the brilliant Quantum Physicist was alone.

Until Al returned with more information, Sam knew he was going to have to do some sleuthing of his own. Deborah had been biting his head off since the moment he met her, but Sam knew it wasn't her fault. Drawing from what Julie had said at Chrissy's birthday party, Sam had discovered—after riffling through some mail—that she frequently volunteered at the Warwick Veterans Center. Sam felt a great deal of admiration for Deb. He knew it couldn't be easy for a widowed parent with two kids, especially when one of them was Autistic. He remembered Leaping into the life of Jimmy LaMotta who, like Al's sister Trudy, had been born with Down syndrome. Everyone, even Jimmy's own brother, Frank, automatically expected less of him. Maybe Sam was here to encourage Jean.

The way Albert's Niece stared at him yesterday brought back the same harrowing thought that tugged at every fiber of Sam's being:

 _What if she sees me as I really am? It's happened before… someone like Jean was able to see me…_ He glanced skyward again. _Why won't you let me remember?_

His eyes suddenly grew wide as fractured memories of an insane asylum played like a movie in his mind. They briefly flashed in front of him; taunting him with their secrets. Then they dissipated as quickly as the lightning that had…

The lightning that…

The lightning…

 _Damn it_ , Sam silently lamented. Why did his Swiss-cheesed memory always have to quit on him mere microseconds before a revelation? _Al,_ he thought suddenly. _It's got to have something to do with Al!_

 _Oh, Al._ Sam's mind whispered without a trace of hostility. _What are you keeping from me this time, buddy?_

"Al."

Sam jumped again. He had been so lost in thought that he didn't even hear Deb's car pull into the driveway. The kids were with her. Jude was leading his sister Jean out of the kitchen and back into the living room. "I've gotta get used to being called that," he said under his breath.

Deb frowned at him. "What did you say?"

"Oh... um, nothing. Listen, Debbie..." Sam began, trying something a little less formal. "Debbie, I—"

She walked over to him and put her head on his shoulder. "Al, I'm sorry about yesterday," she sobbed. "I know I've been snapping at you for weeks! It's just that... Jeanie's withdrawing faster every day. The only one she even looks at anymore is Chrissy and now she's not even _trying_ to speak!" The momentum of Deb's fear and frustration was rapidly picking up speed. "I thought that, if they spent more time together—and Julie thought it was a good idea too, since they're so close in age… a-and… Dr. Groden said that, given where she is in the Spectrum, Jean should be verbalizing more. It's my fault. I-I-I must be doing something wr..."

Sam hugged Deb as the words she was desperately trying to say collapsed hopelessly inside her throat. A sudden sadness knifed him in the pit of his stomach. If ever he had seen his own sister, Katie, like this… _Had_ he ever seen Katie like this?

"Come on, Sis," Sam soothed, rocking her compassionately. "Don't do this to yourself! You're a terrific mother."

Deb began to muffle her cries on Sam's shoulder. A protective measure for Jude's sake. "I miss him," she said sorrowfully. "I miss Donnie so much!"

"I know, Sis. I… I miss him too."

"Uncle Al! Uncle Al!" It was Jude, back in the kitchen. The young boy hugged his _Uncle_ enthusiastically. Deb quickly dried her eyes and smiled at her son. "Today's the day, right, Uncle Al?" he asked, nearly jumping up and down with excitement.

 _Oh, Boy!_ Thought Sam. "Today's the day for what?" he asked with a touch of trepidation.

Jude looked puzzled, and slightly hurt. "Uncle Al, you promised! I don't got any homework—"

"Have, sweetie," his mother corrected. Another diversion.

"Oh, right. 'Have.' I don't _have_ any homework and you said you were gonna show me how to do ven-till-i-kism!"

Before he could respond, Sam heard: "Go to the head, Sam!"

"What the...?" Under a different set of circumstances, Sam might have been tempted to say: _Of the class?_

"The bathroom, Sam!" Al's voice, still soft and forlorn, but with a growing sense of urgency, called to him from... That was odd. Sam could hear his friend, but he couldn't see him. Sam began to wonder if the Project was experiencing technical difficulties when he saw what appeared to be smoke coming from the wall near the kitchen sink.

"C'mon, Sam! We gotta talk!" Al was... hiding! He was actually hiding in the wall!

Sam could feel his empathy for his best friend turning into anger. Gently releasing Deb from his brotherly embrace, Sam turned to leave the kitchen.

"Little brother," Deb said. Another familiar feeling tugged at Sam's Swiss-cheesed memory. Somehow it felt more grateful than sad. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah… sure. I've just gotta take a... I... excuse me for a second." Sam did as instructed and locked the bathroom door behind him. "Alright, Al!" he hissed quietly. "This is getting a little ridiculous, don't you—?"

At that moment, the Admiral's image appeared, right in the middle of the bathtub. Sam was fast losing his patience. In an attempt to disperse some of his anger, he thrust his right hand into the palm of his left.

"Al! How many times do have I asked you not to... pop in like that?" He punctuated every other word with the same gesture.

"Okay-okay- _okay_ , Sam. Take it easy."

Al walked through the tub so that he appeared to be standing next to Sam. He was dressed in the same clothes he had on the night before—minus the fedora, for some reason—and had apparently finished the cigar he'd been smoking when he was in the kitchen wall. Sam knew his environmentally conscientious companion would properly dispose of the remnants of his almost ever-present habit. Moreover, there were times that Sam wondered if there was some sort of cordless vacuum cleaner patrolling the Imaging Chamber when it was offline.

If it wasn't for the fact that Al looked as though he was well beyond the twenty-four hour mark with little to no sleep, Sam might have asked him about it.

"What's going on, Al? Look, I know this is hard on you. I know Jean's Autism reminds you of Trudy being born with Down syndrome, but you can't keep... pussyfooting around this Leap like a... a Seamus! Will you just talk to me, please?"

"Alright, damn it!" Al shot back through his teeth. His eyes momentarily flashed in anger, then softened.

For an instant, Sam thought he saw his friend mouth the words: _Thanks, Bena. I've got this._ Al shifted on the balls of his feet as though an invisible lifeline of support had touched his arm. Unfortunately in the Imaging Chamber, unless the Admiral himself was making barehanded contact with someone or something (or he was wearing short sleeves), Sam would never know it. Silently, he prayed for Al's sake that his hypothesis was correct. Besides, if he asked, Al would probably brush it off and defensively remind Sam that his lip reading skills left a lot to be desired.

Al paused, seeming to wait for something; perhaps some _one_ , to leave the two of them alone. Since his vision of the present was neurologically obstructed by the past, Al would have to make his best estimate. He nervously fidgeted with the cutout triangles in his collar and scratched his right ear. His gaze shifted briefly, then met Sam's.

"I'm sorry, pal. I know you're tryin' to help, but his isn't about me or Trudy... not really. It's about that innocent little girl in there." With the end of an unlit cigar, Al pointed over his shoulder toward the living room. "What if she's able to see me? _Then what_? I breeze into her life, get her to trust me, and then disappear forever! Sam, I can't do that to... I just don't wanna break another promise." He pocketed the cigar and looked down at his shoes.

Sam suddenly felt the urge to turn away from the turmoil on Al's face, but fought it. With twelve years temporally separating them, the look in Sam's eyes was the closest thing to a hand on his friend's shoulder that he could offer.

"Al, you… you have a gift, especially when it comes to kids. Especially kids like Jean."

"Sam…" Despite Al's protest, he was genuinely touched by his friend's words.

" _I've seen it!_ And if Jean's in trouble, I need you to help me reach her. I need you, Al."

Al sighed. "That's why I'm here, Sam. I've got some more information for you. Ziggy says there's a 72.6% chance that Jean is being molested."

 **Chapter 6**

"Hey, Al," Deb called, "what'd ya do? Fall in?"

"Uh… no." Sam stammered to Deb. To Al, he said, "What makes Ziggy think that?"

"Actually, Ziggy's projection is based on an input session she had this morning with our resident subterranean head-shrinker." Al winced at his own misplaced attempted to lighten the subject. He took a deep breath, consciously slowing his cadence. "Verbena thinks that Jean's behavior shows classic signs of…" It was all the Observer could do to keep his voice from faltering. "… sexual trauma."

Fighting the urge to throw up, Sam whispered, "Al, how do things like this happen in such a small community?"

"Sam," Al said somberly, "sometimes things like this happen _because_ it's a small community. In fact, one of the most disturbing cases of child molestation happened right here in Rhode Island. The bastard's name was Chester Palmiscano. He was a teacher at St. Leo's in Cranston and he used his involvement with the _Big Brothers/Big Sisters_ Organization to—" he swallowed, hard. "My third wife, Ruthie, has a cousin living here and… her son was one of his…" Al closed his eyes, leaving the thought horribly unfinished. It had been a long time since he'd even allowed himself to think about it. When it came to his lost loves, Ruth was the third most important woman in his life.

"God, Al! I'm sorry. Did they ever catch him?"

"Yes… and they're still compiling evidence against this nozzle in _our_ time!"

"I'd hurry up if I were you," Deb warned. "You know Jean has this fascination with the bathroom. Come to think of it," she added, more to herself than Sam, "I've been meaning to get that lock fixed."

At that precise moment, the bathroom door slowly swung open and there stood Jean. The little redhead's eyes, which never seemed to focus on anyone or anything for more than an instant, were locked on Al's holographic image.

"Al," Sam whispered. "She can see you. _Talk to her_."

Al shot a pleading look at Sam; then conceded. He knelt beside her. "Jean," he said softly, "Can you see me, honey?" Her gaze never wavered; never left him.

"Jean, did somebody… hurt you? Honey, you have to tell us so that we can stop him from ever hurting you again. You've done nothing wrong. I know this is hard for you, Jean, but you've gotta tell us… please."

Jean's eyes never left Al's as she said slowly, "Chrissy."

"My God," Sam whispered, his eyes filled with sympathy and rage. "Julie's daughter must have been telling Jean… No wonder she stopped talking!"

Sam and Al looked at each other. Not a word needed to be spoken.

"Thank you, sweetie," Al said soothingly to the emerald-eyed red head. "Now go on. Go see Jude and your mommy." As soon as Jean was relatively out of earshot, the Admiral was back on deck. "Gushie!" he hollered, simultaneously punching commands into the handlink. "Center me on Julie!" Moments later, he vanished.

"Debbie!" Sam shouted, "I need to borrow the car!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Al!" Julie said, pleasantly blushing. "This is a surp—"

"Julie," Sam cut her off, "where's Chrissy?"

From behind the fence, Sam could hear Al. "Sam!" he called frantically. "Back here! Hurry up!"

"She's in the back yard with my dad. Why?"

Sam raced passed Julie. A feeling of sickness flooding him as he glared at the monster who stood before him. Chrissy was in his lap.

"He wasn't touching her, Sam." Al snarled. "Not _this time_ ," he added disgustedly.

"You son of a bitch!" Sam hissed, his teeth clenched in rage. "How could you? She's your granddaughter!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" George stammered.

Turning his gaze to Julie's daughter, Sam said gently, "Chrissy, I _know_. Jean told me. It's okay. I know you didn't mean to hurt her. Your grandfather made you keep it a secret and Jean was the only one you knew wouldn't say anything. But, Chrissy, you _have_ to tell us so that we can stop it. It's going to be okay, Chrissy. He can't hurt you anymore."

Julie was standing next to Sam. "Dad?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"He's lying!" George screamed. "Julie… I would never hurt either of you!"

"No…" Julie dropped to her knees… remembering… "Chrissy," she sobbed, "Come here!"

"Mommy!" Chrissy flew into her arms.

The so-called _man_ tried to run, but Sam was on him instantly. Al was shouting encouragement and swearing an Italian blue streak as an infuriated Sam pinned George to the ground. It took every ounce of strength he had not to beat him within an inch of his life. The bastard had it coming, but Sam just couldn't bring himself to deliver the all-too-deserving blows. Not in front of Julie and Chrissy.

They had suffered long enough.

"Oh, baby!" Julie wailed, holding her daughter and stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry… I forgot what he… How could I have let this happen again? This is all my fault!"

"No, Julie." Sam said quietly, his grip never faltering. "This is _not_ your fault." He felt a small sense of satisfaction as he dug his knee harder into George's back. "It's his."

 **Epilogue**

"You okay, Sam?"

It was late again and everyone in the house was asleep. Sam sat on Deb's porch sipping a Bud Light. Al was by his side, with a freshly lit Chavelo cigar, poking at the handlink.

"Al, I don't get it," Sam said sorrowfully. "Why didn't I Leap in here sooner? Years before! I could have stopped all of this before it happened… to either one of them!" He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Al wished he could put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We're in the Wrong-Righting business, Sam." he said gently. "If it hadn't… happened, you wouldn't be here to fix it, y'know?"

Sam lowered his head and Al changed tactics.

"Sam," Al said a little more firmly, but with the same paternal warmth in his tone, "give yourself a break, for cryin' out loud! Where would _any_ of these people be if it wasn't for you?" The expanse in his gesture told Sam that Al wasn't merely referring to the people in _this_ Leap. "Hell," he added bluntly, "if anyone almost blew this one, Sam, it's me."

Sam met his friend's gaze. "You're wrong, Al." he said kindly, then added, "And you're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"I didn't do it alone."

Al smiled; then his eyes narrowed as he glanced at the readout on the handlink. "Sam," he said, "I don't understand it. Everything works out fine. That nozzle, George, is still doing time in the ACI. That's a prison in Cranston, Sam. Julie and Chrissy spend a lot of years in therapy, but they're okay. In fact, Wolfberg and Julie get married six months from now and eventually have a child of their own... a boy. They named him Patrick, after Captain McCormack's father."

Sam smiled as Al continued, "Deborah also gets married in a couple of years to a great guy. He's really good to her and the kids; he even helps Jean to come out of her shell a bit more." A particular sparkle gleamed in Al's eyes as he relayed that part of the update. "Oh, and get this! Wolfberg transfers his college credits to MIT, gets his Engineering degree, and becomes a civilian contractor for dozens of military installations along the East Coast. He builds a Memorial at the 143rd for the Crew that was lost and plays a huge role in the construction that's still going on at the Wing today. So—" pocketing the now silent link, he shrugged as his voice trailed off.

Sam glanced at him in mid swig. "So, why haven't I Leaped?" he said, finishing the question.

"Yeah," Al replied around the cigar that was momentarily back in his mouth.

"Al, listen—"

"Sam, don't…"

"No, this needs to be said." Sam rose swiftly and stood inches away from Al, concern and affection brightened his green eyes. "I don't know how much time I have left so, damn it, Al, you're going to listen to me! I know I give you a hard time about _The Rules_. I know I sometimes act like don't appreciate it when you're trying to cheer me up. I know it can't be easy watching me get my ass kicked when all you can do is stand there. But I want you to know, Al, that… there's no one else I'd rather have by my side! So, whatever it is that you've been beating yourself up over these past few days, I want you to stop it!"

Al was overwhelmed! It took every ounce of military bearing in the Naval Officer's being to remain upright. "Aye-Aye, Sir." he murmured with a warm, grateful smile.

"I mean it! And, Al… do me a favor."

"Name it, kid."

"Get some sleep."

Al shook his head. Gratitude and mischief illuminated his tired face. "I will, Sam," he said, grinning. "I promise. Y'know, you're pretty alright yourself… when you're not being a prude!"

Sam chuckled softly. Then a sudden epiphany crossed his face as he recalled Al's earlier attempt to reminisce.

This was Time's gift _to the both of them_!

"Tell me something, Al." Sam said, pointing the mouth of the beer bottle at his friend. "How old were you when you started following that theater troupe around?"

Al pulled the cigar from his lips so suddenly he nearly dropped it. Recovering quickly, yet still in shock, his wide-eyed stare met Sam's earnest gaze. "Are you actually asking me—?"

 _Aw, Sam._ Al's expression said. He swallowed, replying, "Uh... I was nine. Oh, Sam, you should have seen this troupe leader!" With both hands, Al playfully traced the fond memory of her figure in the air, "Her name was Shirley Grayson and she had the most amazing... stage presence."

"Jeez, Al!" Sam chided facetiously. "Was there ever a time in your life when you _weren't_ interested in women?"

Al opened his mouth to answer him, but paused, looking contemplative. "Probably. But I'm not sure." Sam's expression turned quizzical and Al chuckled, letting his Italian heritage go full steam ahead. "Hey, not for nuthin'," he said devilishly. "My memory's pretty good, Sam, but _even I_ can't remember as far back as conception!"

Sam sprayed his mouthful of beer all over the floor of the porch, laughing quietly, yet earnestly. It wasn't long before Al joined him in hysterics, laughing just as softly even though no one else in the household would hear him.

Almost no one.

Sam looked at Al, shook his head in awe, and smiled. _What would I do without you, old friend?_ He said with his eyes.

Al saw the look and felt the weight of agonizing guilt and self-accusation—four years of forced deception, four years of feeling incorporeally useless, four years of resentment at having to keep certain aspects of Sam's life a secret—lift from his shoulders. Though he knew it would never dissipate _completely_ , not until Sam came home, he felt recharged. At peace. Grateful beyond words for the brilliant, stubborn, golden-hearted scientist he called friend. As he regarded the younger man with an affectionate smile, Al hoped that Sam's Swiss-cheesed mind would allow him to remember what he had done for him.

"You know something, Sammy Boy?" Al said with a wink, "I think we're gonna have to add Psychiatry to your list of doctorates after all."

The two men remained on Deborah's porch, laughing, talking and joking as though they had not a care in the world. For a few precious moments, they didn't. As the sun rose to greet the new day, Sam was still laughing when he Leaped.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Al lingered momentarily as the stark, blue walls of the Imaging Chamber, no longer obscured by the holographic vail of the past, hummed quietly.

"I love your guts, kid," he whispered. His eyes drifted skyward, briefly closing. He smiled peacefully, exited the Imaging Chamber and placed his handlink into Gushie's technical, loving custody. The Head Programmer smiled back at him as the Observer patted his shoulder.

With his spirits, head and heart immensely lifted, Admiral Al Calavicci strode through the Control Room towards his quarters. He had a promise to keep.


End file.
